


Love, Luck & Healing

by fishfingersandjellybabies



Category: Batman (Comics), Superman (Comics)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-02
Updated: 2017-03-02
Packaged: 2018-09-27 20:26:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10047347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fishfingersandjellybabies/pseuds/fishfingersandjellybabies
Summary: He and Clark were awfully lucky to have the children they did.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is basically plotless smoop? There’s no point to this. I’m okay with that. Alfred slept at some point. Jon probably cries and sleep-rambles half the day to Clark. Dick ends up grumpily climbing into bed with Bruce and Damian when he finds out Alfred stole Damian away. Bruce keeps his promise to Alfred and Damian is flustered and embarrassed about it for like, one hundred years. Dick gets his fucking family brunch, don’t you worry.

When he stirred, he kept his eyes closed. Kept his breathing slow, tried to analyze instead of actually _feel_ the tremendous pain he was in.

This isn’t where he’d gone to sleep.

Last he remembered he was in battle. He and Clark. They were losing. He was bleeding, and badly. Hit with a drug too, he thinks. Clark had been hit by Kryptonite and beaten further from there.

But worst of all: his son had been there. Clark’s too.

He tensed, trying to make sense of his surroundings. Was he alone? Was he in danger? Was Clark okay? Where were the boys, _where were Jon and Damian?_

But then…he smelled popcorn. Heard the low hum of music through headphones. Heard a quiet, snorted laugh that he could recognize anywhere.

(A sound that always, always, always brought a sliver of peace to his soul.)

He inhaled sharply and heard headphones being pulled away, dropped onto a neck.

“Where am I?” He asked hoarsely. The sound surprised him – why did he sound so _weak_?

“My apartment.” Dick hummed back. “My bedroom, if you want me to be more specific.”

“Clark…”

“Getting tended to by Alfred in the guest room. When he’s finished up, we’re going to move him in here with you.” Dick explained. Bruce still hadn’t opened his eyes, almost felt too frail to, and Dick sounded so far away. “You two gave us quiet a scare.”

Bruce waited a moment, forcing himself to raise his eyelids. When he finally could, he stared up at the ceiling, before flopping his head to the side, looking for his eldest. Dick was sitting on the floor in the far corner of the room, a laptop in front of him, the headphones connected to it.

“What…” He wheezed, and now realized he was also wearing an oxygen mask. “What happened?”

“Don’t have all the details yet. But I was told some sort of alien attack.” Dick said calmly. “You and Clark did everything you could, but were grossly outnumbered. They basically took you down first, and Clark not long after.”

“…In Metropolis.” Bruce murmured. “We were…Metropolis.”

“Correct.” Dick nodded. “The rest of the League were called and took care of everything. Crisis averted. Day saved.”

“…Dick, you live in Bludhaven.” Bruce breathed as his eyelids fluttered closed again.

“I do.”

“How did we get here?” Bruce begged quietly. “Dick, how did we get from Metropolis to Bludhaven?”

Dick didn’t answer right away, but Bruce didn’t need him to. The question was practically rhetorical. Even in the fog of pain and failure, he knew.

And it broke his heart.

“…Dick, where are the boys?” Bruce whispered.

“They fell asleep on the sofa about an hour ago.” Dick admitted hesitantly. “I should actually go check on them soon. They were pretty shaken up.”

“Are they hurt?” Bruce suddenly shifted, his eyes flew open as he tried to sit up, and Dick was instantly at his side, pushing him back down. “Dick, if they’re hurt, don’t make them wait just for-”

“They’re fine. Relatively minor injuries. As soon as we got you and Clark even remotely stable, I took care of them. Don’t worry.” Dick promised, as he gently shoved Bruce back down. “But like I said, they’re both just as terrified for the two of you as you and Clark are for them. Probably even more so. So stay down. You need to rest.”

Bruce sighed in defeat, though they both knew it was a tentative state. “How’d they get here, did they say?”

“Jacked your jet. Jon carried you and Clark in, Damian drove. They both dragged you up to the apartment.”

And Bruce’s voice was sad. “…Why here?”

Dick’s return smile was just as heartbroken.

“Damian.” He whispered. “When I asked, he said…well. He said this was the safest place he could think of.”

Bruce swallowed the lump in his throat, blinked tiredly up at his eldest.

“…I need to see him.” Bruce decided. He tried to move again, and Dick pushed him back down. “Dick, I need to see Damian and Jon.”

“They’re asleep.” Dick reiterated. “And I’m not waking them just for this. They need their rest, just like you do.”

“I don’t care.” Bruce shot back. “You can’t keep me from my son.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Dick rolled his eyes, reaching out to a piece of equipment Bruce couldn’t see. “But later. When Clark’s fixed up, when the boys calm down, and when-”

Dick suddenly stopped, frowned and looked over his shoulder, towards the room’s door. Bruce – his eyelids suddenly drooping against his will once more, and he had a feeling Dick had upped his drugs – hadn’t noticed it was open before. But he did now. And even in his suddenly fading vision, he could see a person. A little boy, peeking into the guest room.

And even in the darkness of the hallway and his declining vision, he could see the bandages across Jon’s body. The wrap around his knee, the gauze on his cheek. Uncovered scratches and haphazardly tended cuts along his hands and up his arms.

 _Relatively minor_ , Dick had said.

“Oh, Jon, honey.” Dick cooed. Jon looked up at him with tired eyes, and Bruce could see the shadow of a bruise along his neck. Dick suddenly looked back down at Bruce, and carefully patted his chest. “Bruce, _please_ sleep. I need to go take care of him.”

Bruce didn’t answer, but also found he couldn’t – the drugs already taking effect.

“I promise, when you wake up, you and Clark can see the boys. I swear.” Dick repeated as he backed away. As soon as he hit the hall, he spun back around, rushing towards Jon.

“I just want to see my dad.” Jon whispered sheepishly. Right before Bruce’s eyes shut for the last time, he watched Dick gather Jon up into his arms. “Is he doing okay?”

“Alfred’s taking care of him, don’t you worry.” Dick comforted. Bruce’s vision went dark as he listened to Dick be the father he would probably never be. “Is Damian awake too? Are you guys hungry…?”

~~

The next time he stirred, he could sense things were different. There were more people in the room, an equally prone body lying next to him on the not-quite-big-enough bed.

He could hear Clark breathing, closer to the window. Feel the warmth of the sun streaming through the window healing him. He was still wheezing, though. Loudly, painfully. So healing, but maybe not quite fast enough.

But he could tell it wasn’t Clark pressed up against his arm.

Carefully he opened his eyes, stared up at the ceiling for a moment again. Blinked, then turned his head towards the center of the bed.

Clark was asleep, oxygen mask on his face. Looking as bad as Bruce himself felt. Glowing in the sunlight, though, like the god he was. Typical.

Between them laid Jon.

He was clinging to his father’s arm, cheek pressed uncomfortably against his bandaged bicep. The space between Clark and Bruce was minuscule, and he barely fit in it. But clearly he was desperate, and forced himself to make it work.

Bruce could see the dried tear tracks on his sleeping face.

Bruce sighed, looking gratefully down at the boy. Happy he was safe. Happy the boy didn’t end up like him, and lose a parent at a young age.

He heard a tired sigh from his other side.

Instantly he turned his head. At first all he saw was the bedroom wall. The still open door, Alfred drinking tea in the living room.

Then he saw a head of dark hair.

He blinked and glanced down. Found Dick sitting on the floor still, slumped against the side of the mattress, bundled in a heavy blanket.

Damian curled up in his lap.

His arm was in a sling, resting gently on top of the comforter that encased him too, a few of his fingers splinted. But otherwise, he looked similar to Jon’s injuries – those _relatively minor_ injuries.

Bruce grunted without realizing it, trying to roll closer to them. Dick noticed him, leaning his head back against the bed.

“’Morning, B.” Dick whispered. “How you feeling?”

“Fine.” He growled without thinking about it, and Dick snorted a laugh. “How’s…”

A rough cough bubbled up his throat, then another and another, shaking even the bed. Neither Clark nor Jon stirred.

“Good.” Dick answered anyway, shifting Damian in his arms. “Damian and Jon are good. Sling’s a precaution, he probably won’t wear it past dinner. The two refused to go back to sleep again last night after Jon woke up, so they’ll probably be out most of the day.” Another smirk. “Damian’ll kill me when he wakes up and realizes where he fell asleep. And when he finds the selfies I took.”

“Hm.” And again without thinking, Bruce carefully dropped his arm, tangling his fingers in Damian’s hair, stroking gently. “You’ll probably deserve it.”

“I know. In my defense, I took some of Jon when he was sleeping down here too, but then he snuck up to the bed when I dozed myself, and I couldn’t get a good angle of him anymore.” Dick almost sounded like he was pouting, but the hint of amusement still sparkled in his tired eyes. Bruce nodded at his words, still petting Damian’s hair, and after a moment Dick looked down at him. “…He’s a good kid, isn’t he, Bruce? Him and Jon both.”

“The best. They did all this, just to save us.” Bruce wheezed. “Clark and I are the luckiest men in the entire universe to have them. To have you too.”

“Aw, Bruce, you’re gonna make me blush.” Dick smirked, glancing up at him. “But, to be fair, we’re pretty damn lucky kids to have you guys, too.”

Bruce grunted, feeling his eyelids droop again. He wasn’t going to fight it this time.

“Go back to sleep, B. You still need your rest.” Dick whispered, obviously noticing the exhaustion.

Bruce nodded, carefully dropping his hand from Damian’s head. “Wake me when one of the boys wake up?”

Dick snorted. “Can you believe Jon asked the same thing after he climbed up there?” Dick laughed a little, and in Bruce’s blurring vision, he saw Dick suddenly shift, lift Damian’s arm, and fit his tiny, less-bandaged hand into Bruce’s. Bruce clung to it as tightly as he could, loosened his grip after a moment, let Damian’s fingers dangle from his. “But I will this time, Bruce. I promise. We’ll all have a nice fancy brunch together in a few hours.”

“Hm.” Bruce sighed, closing his eyes. “You better get some sleep too, Dick. Or else.”

Dick laughed again, and Bruce felt another hand cover his as Dick leaned his head back against the mattress. Dick’s fading voice was soothing as his consciousness darkened once more.

“Okay, Dad.”

~~

The third time Bruce woke, he attempted to open his eyes right away, blearily looking around.

Dick was gone. So were Clark and Jon.

Damian lay in the Supers’ space instead, curled in on himself, facing Bruce.

He suddenly heard a quiet voice, and turned towards the door. Alfred stood there, still drinking tea, but it wasn’t him who spoke. Out in the living room, Bruce could see Clark sitting in the chair he’d seen Alfred in before, Jon leaning against his chest, murmuring tearfully. Clark just kept trying to shush him, rocking him back and forth.

They both looked to be in terrible shape, still.

“I sent Master Richard to bed – a proper one this time. He’s asleep in the guest room.” Alfred whispered. “He’d taken Damian with him for a time, but I felt it only proper he be in here with you when one of you woke, especially after Clark and Jon departed for the living room, so I brought him back.”

“Good call.” Bruce hummed, twisting himself as much as his pain would allow, carefully slipping an arm under Damian’s neck and pulling him to his chest, curling around him in a protective embrace.

“Richard informed me he told you what happened.” Alfred sniffed. Bruce nodded silently, kissing Damian’s forehead. “…That boy loves you. More than, objectively, you might deserve. It would be wise to tell him how much you reciprocate that emotion when he wakes.”

“Don’t you worry, Alfred,” Bruce smiled, even as he heard Alfred leave, go and attend to Clark and Jon. He carefully ran his thumb across Damian’s bandaged face, and leaned their foreheads together. Smiled, when Damian let out a baby-like sigh. “I’m already planning on it.”


End file.
